The Fearful Valley
by Steven Dalton
Summary: Computer hacker extraordinaire Jonathan Douglas is murdered in his private penthouse atop Birlstone Tower, with no way on or off that couldn't possibly have been recorded. But the case proves even more confounding when the entire crime scene disappears, leading Sherlock and John on a chase that involves both a secret society and a dead man. Read and review please!
1. Prologue

Prologue

Birlstone Tower sat on the corner of Porlock and Meander, the tallest private hotel in the neighborhood.

The clock struck ten as the hotel clerk closed the lobby for the night, placing the key in his pocket and then heading to the security room where he would probably wind the rest of the graveyard shift down watching Netflix or texting his girlfriend until she went to bed.

The monitors in front of him sat silently, each deep pocketed entrepreneur of the privately owned skyscraper sleeping soundly in their bed. It wasn't until around eleven, after he'd attempted to conquer a level of some simple game on his smartphone; that he noted the odd and repetitive behavior occurring on security camera alpha, the one for the penthouse suite.

Leaning forward he squinted his eyes and tapped on the screen and then decided to call over the walkies and let one of the guards check it out. "Hey Jim, there's some static at the penthouse, check it out will ya?" he called out.

After getting a short chirp as a reply he switched to the exterior of the roof, where the glass tube elevator ran up; the only way on or off the extremely private suite. The tall man shone his flashlight across the pool searching for any lights coming from the penthouse itself. Yet instead, what came was a short crisp reply to his superior muttering, "Collins, ya better get up here. We've got a body."


	2. Part 1

Part 1

Sherlock had bounced the ball against the wall exactly forty seven times in the same spot, going for the record I presumed; when our landlady Mrs. Hudson stepped into the room determined to stop him. Entering the living room as he was midway thru his 49th bounce, Mrs. Hudson took hold of the rubber ball and muttered, "Sherlock can't you see that some of us are trying to concentrate?"

"What else would I possibly be doing?" he boldly countered to which she sighed and muttered, "Just this once try and sit quietly would you?" "For you Mrs. Hudson I can be as quiet as a tomb," he obliged to which our landlady smiled and returned to her usual chores.

Turning toward me then, Holmes gave an odd lopsided smile and reached into his pants pocket on the right side taking out another rubber ball and proclaiming, "Typical woman." As he began to bounce this one I turned on my chair and asked, "I take it that you're bored?" "What was your first clue?" my companion asked dryly to which I remarked, "Are you restless because you need a case or because you need to smoke?"

He paused in the repetitive bouncing, a small blessing to be sure; and then told me, "John I have been clean for nearly a month and yet every time I appear at a state of unrest you naturally assume it must be in regard to my need for tobacco. Judging from your firm grip on the chair and the crease in your eyebrows along with sudden perspiration, you also are eager to resume our normal activities."

I sighed, realizing he was partly right and then muttered, "I don't think anyone would consider what we do normal." "The fact remains it has also been a solid four weeks since our last exciting chase. If I didn't know any better I'd say the criminals have all hidden," Holmes said. "Fine do you want me to post an ad on our blog? 'World-renowned private sleuth Sherlock Holmes is bored? In desperate need of murder!' " I asked to which he remarked, "Don't be stupid, no one would answer a post like that." I sighed in frustration, opening up my laptop and typing in my password; then only to be greeted by an error message which made me frown in concern.

"That's odd," I commented to which Sherlock muttered, "What boyfriend celebrity crush has been trashed now?" "My password isn't working," I explained as I tried it again this time more slowly and then I asked, "Did you change our security settings?"

"John I have better things to occupy my time than to peruse your desktop," he replied and then stood up and gazed at the error message for a moment before commenting, "I believe you may be the victim of a computer virus."

"What makes you think that?" I wondered sliding my chair back a bit so he could kneel and examine the computer closely. "This message doesn't seem to have the proper characters in it, as though it was preprogrammed by an individual rather than the hardware itself," Sherlock explained and added, "Even if you had changed the password and forgotten, the error message would not encourage to retry your password. Most likely the virus wants you to repeatedly insert your security information so it can work as a worm, extracting information from your network. If my guess is right on the fifth try the system will seemingly work without problems."

I scooted forward glancing at him as I typed in the password several more times with similar results and then just as he predicts as though nothing was wrong my desktop appeared. "So now every action I make it will record and then transfer to some outlying system?" I guessed.

"Yes, even an ordinary bug can do that John. I recommend you enter your security firmware and reinstall some of your key components. It's likely the worm infiltrated your system that way," Sherlock answered. I clicked on the icon, glancing thru the options available and choose to backup the hard drive before commenting, "How do you suppose it got in my computer to begin with?"

"Obviously some unsuspecting colleague of ours sent us an email that had traces of the worm in it," Holmes answered watching as a countdown told us how long the backup would take.

"It's a pity this didn't go anywhere," he added stepping back toward the window and adding, "Identity theft is a matter I've never properly tackled."

Suddenly my screen went black and I muttered, "Um... Sherlock." He turned back to the screen, and we both watched as numbers letters and symbols began to rain down on the black screen, constantly changing and shifting in a pattern that seemed to indicate pure randomness. "All right, now I'm impressed," Holmes admitted to which I asked, "What why?"

"This type of alteration could only be caused by the virus piggybacking into your computer's internal memory. And look at these codes, don't you see the pattern?" he asked to which I muttered, "Could you just hurry up an solve this before all my information is taken!" "Of course John," he said seemingly confused by my lack of interest and then typing as quickly as possible a series of numbers which caused the stream of incoherent messages to stop. "A key code, that should resolve the issue," Sherlock explained and then frowned as the stream appeared again this time going even faster.

Suddenly the laptop seemed to die and I asked, "What's going on?" Before he could wager a guess a mysterious string of numbers appeared and then turned into words forming a message that said: 'you've just been served.' Sounds like he likes to gloat," I remarked to which Holmes said, "Yes but by doing so he made a critical mistake."

Reaching under my desk, the private detective unhooked my laptop from the surge protector and stated, "The virus will instantly reset itself, but this time we can follow a trace back to where it originated."

"If my entire bank funds weren't in jeopardy I would be impressed, so please hurry," I told him to which he gestured for me to get up out of the chair and beginning to work, starting my laptop again and then typing in the key code instantly instead of my password. In its place appeared a blue screen with random data on it and Holmes explained, "This is the programming behind the virus. It works like a fingerprint for the hacker. Now I will simply reengineer it and see what results." A few seconds later, lines of code disappeared and in it's place a traceable link between our computer... And a place called Birlstone Tower.

"That's a hotel owned by Porlock Industries. It's here in London!" I exclaimed. "And it would seem our hacker was at the penthouse when he sent us this message, grab your coat Watson I believe we need to pay him a visit," Holmes said standing up and flashing a smile. Sometimes I worry about that, the strange things that make him smile. But at least we'll be getting out of the house.


	3. Part 2

Part 2

Upon leaving Baker Street, I inquired to Holmes whether or not we should contact Inspector Lestrade as to where he were going, and at first he seemed disinclined.

"It isn't often that we find a criminal that abashed us personally rather than caused the loss of life. Let's pursue this on our own and see where the trail leads us," he suggested as I hailed for a taxi. Neither of us spoke much as we drove across London toward the Birlstone Tower, so I took the opportunity to find out more about Porlock Industries using my smartphone.

According to the internet, the tower was built roughly twenty years ago by an American entrepreneur named Frederick Porlock. Having lost most of his inheritance in the stock market back home, the thirty three year old had chosen to trade in what little funds he had left for foreign bonds, opting to increase his business by becoming a computer mogul.

Thanks to the dotcom craze of the nineties, Porlock had been successful, and launched himself as the owner of several fine hotels all across the United Kingdom, but Birlstone Tower was his first and according to the article I was reading his proudest achievement.

The hotel was designed with the super-rich in mind giving them a sense of security with state of the art equipment and a network of computer monitors that might rival Buckingham Palace. But interestingly Porlock also catered to the poor, allowing them access to suites if the right credentials were issued and I couldn't help but to admire the fact that he didn't forget his roots. Seventy stories high, the Birlstone Tower sat on the corner of Porlock Avenue and Meander Street, as we pulled up on the curb of the five-star skyscraper; I noted several police cars were parked adjacent the opposite direction and Sherlock remarked, "Perhaps we weren't so unique after all?"

After paying the cabby we stepped into the lobby where several officers were already talking to the clerk who'd apparently been up all night and the familiar face of Molly Hooper appeared from the elevator.

"Sherlock! Watson! Lestrade was just about to call you over here," the medical examiner commented her eyes brightening at the sight of my taller companion. As usual, Holmes dismissed her without even a glance his cold eyes examining the scene and then he stated, "Did the murder take place in the penthouse?" "How did...?" Molly began but then shook her head and muttered, "Nevermind just come up and see for yourselves."

I shot a curious glance at Sherlock but he said nothing as we stepped into the elevator alongside Molly, who quickly pressed for the penthouse and commented, "Happened last night around 10:30. Night clerk found the body first. No forced entry, all security systems appear completely functional; so of course becomes how did the killer enter the apartment?"

"Amazing," Sherlock agreed as the elevator stopped and we stepped out to the crisp air of the penthouse. A small pool, perhaps six feet deep stood in front of us, a gentle breeze from the north nearly pushing my coat back as Sherlock turned up his collar and strode toward Lestrade who stood on the opposite end of the pool where the body lay, or rather that was what I assumed.

Upon closer inspection, I was able to discern that there was no body at all; merely the appearance of one like a shadow cast from the overlooking suite itself. "Where is the body?" Sherlock wondered to which Lestrade smirked and answered, "We asked the clerk the same thing, plenty of blood to be sure but nothing more. Obviously there was a murder here but how it was committed could take ages if we don't have a body."

"On the contrary judging from where there is water on the cement we can determine how the victim fell, not to mention he seemed to be grasping something in his right palm, a marker perhaps," Holmes said pointing toward a simple design that was on the corner of a potted plant. "It looks like two V's, followed by the words… you've been served," I observed thinking back to the virus I received this morning and my companion commented, "This just became interesting."

Lestrade stared at me for a moment both of us undoubtedly agreeing on what Holmes found interesting most people would consider bizarre and he got out his phone and scanned thru various acronyms remarking, "As far Google is concerned V. v. Could mean any number of things. 5, 5 for Roman numerals of perhaps initials or a name of a group or even constellations in the stars," Sherlock explained and then added, "But it stands to reason that our victim is the very same person who sent us that virus. It was a message to get us here John."

"Hold on, what?" Lestrade asked in confusion. "We received a worm, likely sent to us from this address by the person who died last night," I explained to which Holmes observed, "Judging by the fall the way the writing was done, we're searching for a man probably mid forties, this place is familiar to him. Check the records, perhaps we can learn from that who he was."

Lestrade nodded and got on his cell as we entered the suite itself to stare in confusion at the mess that was made there. Clothes and sheets, furniture and just about every object in sight was tossed about in a seeming search to which I remarked, "Was this robbery?"

"Perhaps, his laptop is missing," Sherlock observed as he walked about taking in every aspect and added, "But I believe we were made to think this was a heist gone wrong." "What makes you think that?" I wondered to which he quickly explained, "Some drawers tossed others left untouched, materials in a mess in one location while organized in another. Our culprit was in a hurry to leave, obviously to remove the body before the police arrived."

"Holmes, we have an issue," Lestrade stated as he entered the room and my companion commented, "Don't tell me, there is no record of the guest." "You nailed it," the Inspector admitted to which I commented, "It seems like someone doesn't want us to find out who got killed tonight." "I couldn't agree more," Sherlock said raising an eyebrow and strolling out before commenting, "I need to think."


End file.
